


how i learned to stop worrying and love the dean

by starfishing



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, and i haven't even shown it to anyone who might tell me it sucks before i post it, crossdressing obviously, i wrote this at 7 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4106943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishing/pseuds/starfishing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jeff and craig are neighbors. they hang out sometimes. sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how i learned to stop worrying and love the dean

**Author's Note:**

> i'm currently in early season four, so don't ask me where this fits in an actual canon timeline. timelines are for squares.

by the time it happens, it's not really a surprise anymore. it's more like a britta surprise: spilled secrets and badly-dropped hints ramping up to that moment where you have to plaster that 'oh wow, i was totally not expecting this!' smile on your face, hands to your cheeks like some kid in a commercial from the '50s. the road to ruined surprise parties is paved with good intentions.

jeff never acts surprised at britta's parties, and he doesn't act surprised now. when craig lays eyes on the topography of jeff's jeans, he says _jeffrey_ , as if he's looking at a candlelit dinner on their anniversary instead of a denim-covered hard-on.

then he says, "you weren't lying when you said you liked my dress," his glee as ill-concealed as jeff's arousal.

jeff does roll his eyes a little, but he's smiling wryly when they land back on craig. ('craig' is still weird, but jeff committed to that change shortly after they became neighbors, because calling his neighbor 'dean' was even weirder.) "what can i say? you rock a backless gown."

"i do, don't i?" craig turns his back on jeff, since jeff's dick clearly needs the encouragement, and gives him a full, unobstructed view of shoulders and triceps that look improbably like they're sculpted from marble. jeff takes it in, resignation and enthusiasm warring.

he guesses - at the risk of thinking about it altogether too much - that the reason it happened so smoothly is because it didn't start with the jarring realization that he was attracted to craig. it began much more innocently, with the realization that his narcissism was feeding off craig's weak knees and the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallowed nervously. what ego wouldn't feel it? craig was a grown man who inarguably owned the hell out of his sexuality, and he was so attracted to jeff, he couldn't begin to hide it. (not, jeff imagines, that he ever tried.)

so that got realized, and jeff carried on, flattered and a little intrigued by the way craig's chest flushed when jeff left his eyes on him too long. the longer jeff looked, the more he saw - chiseled collarbone and shoulders, lean lines of muscle set in pale skin, the ripple of abs under midriff tops and the sharp cut of his hipbones over low-rise shorts. gradually, being attracted to craig being attracted to jeff boiled down to the much more manageable _being attracted to craig_.

now he's sitting on his couch and craig is moving closer to stand over his sprawling legs, skirt hiding both their knees. there's too much substance to the skirt for jeff to see if craig's as hard as he is, but he can make an educated guess.

"now, what kind of neighbor would i be if i didn't help you out with a little problem like this?" craig asks, beaming, and lifts his skirt just enough to rustle it playfully over jeff's crotch. the gesture doesn't go unappreciated.

"the normal kind," jeff deadpans.

craig winks, a slow, dark drop of false lashes. "lucky for you, jeffrey, i'm not the normal kind of neighbor."

"so you're the porno kind of neighbor?" jeff shifts on the couch to accommodate craig straddling his lap. the skirt is all over his chest now, blue satin and something jeff thinks is called tulle, but he wouldn't swear to it. he lifts the layers to peek underneath, feeling like a middle schooler fooling around with his girlfriend.

craig holds his weight off of jeff with strong thighs. his cock is a long line under turquoise silk. "wouldn't you be, if your neighbor was as attractive as you?"

"yes." jeff doesn't have to think about it. which is good, because he's pretty busy thinking about the logistics of this arrangement. is it weird to just reach under there and… what? pull him out? jerk him off through his panties? (would that be rude? maybe they're expensive panties. jeff certainly doesn't stand for his own underwear being ruined.)

he hates to admit that he doesn't know what he's doing. luckily, he doesn't seem to need to. craig offers a sly, knowing glance (because pierce is really the only one who doesn't understand the difference between _metro_ and _gay_ ), and his hands are suddenly at jeff's belt. his jeans are open in record time, and jeff's only regret in the seconds following the zipper is that he's not wearing the blue-and-grey striped pair with the horizontal fly. he doesn't have a chance to regret anything else: there's a strong, warm hand pulling his cock out and wrapping around it.

craig is all soft palm and active fingers. jeff's a little embarrassed to admit that thirty seconds in, he's total putty.

"jesus, craig," he breathes. the tulle of craig's skirt is touching him wherever his hand isn't, pleasantly light and scratchy. he's so caught up, he doesn't see the next part coming.

the hot, sticky pressure against his cock, held there by craig's hand, feels foreign and exciting, and not entirely _unlike_ his cock -

"is that your - ?"

craig doesn't say anything (remarkably), just purses his lips and widens his eyes coyly. jeff unfists his hands from the throw pillows and lifts the skirt again.

their cocks are pressed together, turquoise silk bunched beneath craig's balls. they slide against each other as one of them (and jeff's not sure who) moves his hips. jeff breathes out slowly. he keeps watching.

a slow ooze of precum works its way down jeff's shaft; maybe it's his, maybe it's craig's. it's definitely hot.

"i do have to warn you," craig says (his voice is deep, low and husky in his throat, goes straight to jeff's dick), "this isn't going to last long."

jeff tries to gather his wits for a snappy comeback. watching the constrained twitch of craig's cock in his hand makes it difficult.

"yeah, i - uh." he takes a moment of silence for the death of his composure as a jolt runs through him and his whole body jerks with it. "i've got dr. strangelove queued up on netflix, so let's -" the rest of the remark - _hurry this along_ , or something like that, dies in his throat, choked out by the hitch of his breath. " _fuck_."

leaning down, craig rocks his hips in earnest. it's definitely him this time. "oh, i think we should probably save that for next time, since you're still _new_."

_take that back_ meets a premature death, too, this one strangled by a low, breaking groan. jeff has half a mind to be insulted that craig seems to be more collected than he is, but that poise is crumbling quickly. in a few minutes, craig is nothing but fluttering eyelashes, coral lips open on gasps and shuddering sighs. his free hand is planted on jeff's chest, and he crumples the fabric of his shirt as he digs his fingers in. something drags over jeff's nipple and the jig is almost up. he drops craig's skirt to take fistfuls of throw pillow again.

"jeffrey, _jeffrey_ -" craig pants, keens, squeezes them both tightly and jeff feels the unmistakable throb of craig's cock against his. that's about all he can take.

his body tries to buckle at its climax, his stomach tensing, clenching, but craig's weight on top of him (arching, taut) keeps him down. they buck and press together. jeff has the most inappropriate flashback to karaoke with the dean when their moans overlap, voices almost harmonizing. he'll never be able to listen to 'kiss from a rose' again. thank god.

craig slowly, slowly, unwinds and pools onto jeff, a draping, affectionate, boneless thing. jeff remembers how to breathe. for a few minutes, neither of them says anything; they catch their breath and wait for their heads to stop spinning and their dicks to stop jerking. the tulle, suddenly, is too much; jeff reaches beneath the skirt just to hold it away from himself.

"dr. strangelove?" craig finally chirps into the quiet, still breathy, but back to his usual pitch.

jeff snorts. "it was the first movie i thought of." after a beat, he echoes craig's earlier words. "'next time?'" craig lifts his head to quirk an optimistic smile at him.

"i was thinking thursday."


End file.
